


Chocolate is Overrated Anyway

by SentientSliceofToast



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, dj grooves and the grandkids are only mentioned, just a stupid crackfic that i somehow got emotionally attached to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29449959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentientSliceofToast/pseuds/SentientSliceofToast
Summary: The first time the Conductor sees her, he doesn't think much about it.The second time, he thinks about it more than is probably healthy.The third time, it's all he can think about.
Relationships: The Conductor/Cooking Cat (A Hat in Time)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My brain: write a little drabble for Valentine's day, it'll be fun  
> Me: multi-chapter fic with over 1K words each chapter

The first time the Conductor sees her, he doesn’t think much about it. Everyone’s too busy working through the aftermath of the whole Grooves fiasco.

When the bow child leaves the studio, her face devoid of any emotion whatsoever, he makes a mental note to visit the children’s spaceship later, to check on them. He stays behind for a little bit, of course, just to give the DJ child-murderer a piece of his mind, but he does eventually grace their spaceship with his presence.

Now he’s standing in the middle of the vessel, turning round and round in confusion. This doesn’t exactly look like Grooves’ wild imaginings. He sees what looks like a gumball machine, a TV with the words “Corgi Quest” displayed on the screen, and a yellow chute, the mouth of which is completely blocked by a pile of envelopes and packages. On the green carpeted floor, a little cylindrical machine putters around, occasionally bumping into things and uttering ejaculations like “ow, my circuit board!”.

He _almost_ forgets what he’s here for, until he hears what sounds like an automatic door popping open, and an unfamiliar voice addressing him in a suspicious tone.

“And you are…?”

The Conductor turns around and sees none other than the main character from the TV show titled “Cooking Cat”.

“I-” he begins, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, wait, I know you!” she exclaims, eyes widening in surprise. “You’re the owl who directed-”

Suddenly, she tenses, her fur bristling.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asks.

He glances backward, but doesn’t see anyone.

“There’s no’un here but me,” he says.

She places her hands on her hips. “What, come to beg the girl for your forgiveness? Not happening. Get out.”

The realization hits him. She must be a friend of the children. That, of course, means she knows all about what just happened.

“Nay,” he says hurriedly. “Ye’re thinking about the _other_ director.”

Cooking Cat raises an eyebrow. “And you expect me to believe _DJ Grooves_ would-”

“It’s the dern truth.”

She studies him intently.

“Wait here,” she orders, then disappears back through the door from whence she came. It’s purple, with what look like a… dying cactus(?) on the front.

The Conductor resents being ordered around, but something about the cat is intimidating. (which is strange, since she’s a head shorter than he is and doesn’t have any thumbs) Honestly, she reminds him a little of his former wife.

Remembering her puts even more of a damper on his mood than had been there before. He sure hopes this cat hurries up.

She does come fairly quickly. The door pops open again, and this time the boy with the face paint rushes out, followed by the hatted child and Cooking Cat. The bow child is nowhere to be seen. He hopes she’s alright.

He can’t help but notice how drastically different the two children appear. The boy’s face is angry, uncharacteristically so, but the girl only appears strained. It occurs to him that seeing that look on her is strangely familiar.

Upon seeing him, both children relax.

“Conductor!” the hatted child cries, rushing up to hug him. He, never one for physical contact, stiffens, but makes no resistance.

“Well, hello, lass,” the Conductor says. “How have ye been getting’ on?”

“CC told us there was a bird and we thought-” the boy begins, then cuts himself off, averting his gaze.

“So… he’s not the one who…” Cooking Cat prompts, and both children shake their heads. She exhales, turning to the Conductor.

“Sorry for being so suspicious,” she says, holding out a paw. “I’m Cookie.”

“Moses,” he says gruffly, not taking the gesture. She looks a little disconcerted, but otherwise ignores it. “But every’un just calls me the Conductor.”

“Your name is _Moses_?” the boy exclaims, pulling a face.

“Ye didn’t hear that,” the Conductor replies.

The hatted child tugs on his coat sleeve, looking glum.

“Didja hear about… um…”

“That DJ peck-neck’s blasted attempt at cheating? Ah was _there_ , lassie.”

“DJ Grooves…” Cooking Cat murmurs, shaking her head in amazement. “I can’t believe… I just always thought he was… he was never the type, in my eyes.”

“And _ah_ was?” the Conductor says indignantly.

“I didn’t say that,” she replies in annoyance.

“Everyone is,” the boy growls, his expression disturbingly dark. “They’re all a bunch of-”

“Timmy,” the hatted child says. “quit it.”

He turns to glare out across space at the planet. “When I get my hands on that-”

“ _I said quit it_ ,” the girl interrupts again.

The boy doesn’t reply this time.

Suddenly, another door, this one red, with a film recorder on the front, slides open. There’s the bow child.

She stands there in surprise for a moment, then relaxes.

“Oh, hi, Conductor,” she says. Her voice is dead.

“ _There_ you are,” the hatted child says. “We were looking all over for you!”

She looks a little guilty. “I needed some time alone,” she says.

“Lass,” the Conductor begins pityingly. “Ah’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she replies, advancing across the room. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Well, obviously,” he snorts, earning a glare from cat, girl, and boy. “Ah just… ah wanted tae come and see how ye were gettin’ on, ye know?”

She smiles weakly. “That’s nice of you.”

“Ah always thought Grooves was a cowardly lout, but ah ne’er would’a thought-”

He breaks off with a puzzled glance at Timmy and the hatted child, who are gesticulating wildly for him to stop talking. Another look at the bow child tells him why.

“E-oh,” he says awkwardly.

After a deafening silence, Cooking Cat speaks up.

“So, uh, Conductor, how about you come into the kitchen? I can… get you some… tea?”

The hatted child is shooing him along, so he nods.

“Excellent,” she says, hurriedly grabbing his arm, and drags him to the aforesaid kitchen. Once inside, she turns to him, chest heaving.

“Do you have no tact?” she hisses.

“What are ye-”

“Mr. Conductor, you coming here is a nice gesture, but the guy who tried to kill her is the _last_ thing she’d wanna be thinking about.”

The Conductor blinks. After a moment, she sighs, leaning back against the counter with her head in her paws.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Really, I am. This is just too stressful for me.”

“So ye care about those young’uns?” he asks. She looks up, and chuckles hoarsely.

“I’ve only known them for a month and they’re like children to me.”

He nods thoughtfully, and she turns to the counter, her cheerful, businesslike air returning.

“I think I promised you tea,” she says, filling up a pot at the sink. “And, uh, they actually _have_ tea, which is surprising.”

“This here is an alien kitchen?” he asks doubtfully, glancing around. “Not how aye imagined it.”

“Me too. There’s barely any difference,” she replies, then smiles. “Although, they don’t seem to know what a microwave’s for. Hat Kid said she uses it to punish food.” Seeing the Conductor’s face, she laughs, this time genuinely. It’s a little cute.

There’s an awkward silence while they listen for the tea kettle.

“Er… me daughter watches yer show,” the Conductor prompts.

“Oh, she does?” Cooking Cat asks in surprise, and the Conductor nods. “Funny, I really thought that was only a cat thing.”

“She lives near that god-forsaken metro,” the Conductor replies. “Ah think it’s a bad influence.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You think… cats are a bad influence?”

Realizing how that sentence had come out, the Conductor backpedals hurriedly. “Nay, nay, me apologies, ah meant… ah meant she picks up a lot o’ habits there, ye know? It worries me, really. They ain’t all bad, a’course, but there are some…”

“Bad types?” Cooking Cat finishes, understanding his meaning. “Yeah, I know. Dangerous to talk about it over there, though.”

He nods.

She’s interesting enough to talk to, and the Conductor ends up forgetting his original mission while chatting with her over tea. Eventually he remembers where he is, and where he should be, and hurriedly excuses himself.

Only the hatted child and Cooking Cat bid him goodbye, which is admittedly worrying. He knows the bow child will eventually heal, although the trauma won’t ever leave completely, and it’s not her he’s worried about. In fact, he doesn’t know _why_ the boy frightens him so. He’s a mischievous little twerp, very like himself when he was younger, except… less of a bully. It’s just that there’s something _disturbing_ about the way his eyes had flashed while talking about Grooves.

The Conductor _should_ chalk it up to simple protectiveness on the boy’s part, really, but he doesn’t, and can’t figure out why.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time the Conductor sees her, she’s a little more present on his mind than he thinks is healthy, given that he’s supposed to be watching grandchildren.

He’s sitting at a dining table, trying to ignore the other tables that are sliding around the room at top speed while working at feeding the little gremlins _without_ getting splattered in the face. At the most embarrassing and undignified moment possible, when he’s seconds away from exploding and throwing the food _back_ at his grandchildren, she comes down the hallway. Spying him, her face lights up in recognizance.

“Oh!” she says. “Conductor! Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Why not?” he grouches. “What, don’t think ah can take a break?”

She rolls her eyes. “Didn’t say that.”

“Humph.”

Stepping forward, she watches him wipe the babes’ faces with interest.

“They’re cute,” she says.

“Ha! Ye don’t ‘ave tae take care o’ them.”

CC chuckles, then raises her eyebrows when one child flicks turkey gravy all over his face. The Conductor sits there looking even crankier than usual, and CC has to cover her mouth just to not laugh.

“See what ah mean?” he growls.

“Need some help?” she asks, and he huffs.

“No.”

She shrugs, with a casual “alright then”, and starts off. Maybe the Conductor feels a little guilty, but who is she to assume he can’t take care of children?

He can’t take care of children.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he calls after her, and she turns around quizzically. “Me apologies, yet again. Ah didn’t mean tae snub ye.”

She raises an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips. “Maybe you should work on that.”

He splutters indignantly, then cuts off when she comes back over and taps him lightly on the head.

“Hey, your kid’s running off.”

“Wha- gah, come back here, ye little devil-”

He hurries to retrieve his grandchild and plops him back in his chair with a muttered “crazy peck-neck”.

“So _that’s_ where they learned-”

“That’s what everyone says,” the Conductor interrupts, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. Eyeing Cookie, he sighs.

“’Ey, does that offer ye made still stand?”

She snorts. “Never stopped.”

********************

He doesn’t think about her when the ship’s keeled over, but she thinks about him. It’s his absence in any of the lifeboats that has her worried. She sees all his grandchildren, thanks to the hatted child, but not the bird himself.

It’d be reasonable if she didn’t go. Really, it would.

Cooking Cat finds him in the children’s playroom, clutching a half-submerged slide for dear life. Technically, she’s doing the same, and has no way to help him, but the relief is still there.

“What in _peck’s_ name are _ye_ doing here?” he yelps.

She doesn’t like his tone, and is about to snap at him, until she notices that he’s crying.

“You-wha- it’s not- you can still make it, Mr. Conductor,” she says, feeling more than a little confused. Tears just aren’t like him.

“What’s the point?” he asks dully.

“What do you _mean_ what’s the point?” she asks furiously.

“How could ah ever face me daughter now?” he asks. “Ah told her ah’d take care of ‘em. Now ah can’t even make good that promise.”

She stares, his meaning slowly becoming clear.

“You mean, you came all the way back here to…?”

“Ah told her ah’d take care of ‘em,” he articulates again, not meeting Cooking Cat’s gaze.

“Conductor,” she says slowly. “your grandchildren are fine. I saw them in the lifeboats.”

He glances up sharply, brow furrowing.

“But how-”

“Hat Kid,” she replies, barely noticing that she’s slipping.

“Ye mean the lass saved ‘em?”

She nods, nearly falling into the water in the process. Scrambling, she regains a little balance, but she’s tipped the slide over, and it’s submerging.

“Cookie-” he begins sharply.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, frantically running her options through her mind. Her grip tightens nervously, loudly scraping the plastic.

Well, peck. Looks like she’s about to lose one of her lives. That brings the count down to… what, seven? She does admittedly live a rather risky lifestyle.

“Hey-” she begins, intending to say something to the Conductor, but she never gets the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

The third time the Conductor sees her, she’s all he can think about.

Well, that’s not _exactly_ true. He’s also thinking about the crazy mustached child who’s just filled their entire planet with lava, but his point is made.

Unfortunately, he never gets the chance to speak to her, so he doesn’t know if that one counts. Whatever the case, he does get to speak to her a few days later, of his own choice.

It takes a little bit of asking around and a _lot_ of yelling to figure out where she lives, but he’s there, on Valentine’s day, knocking on her door, holding chocolate. When Cooking Cat opens said door, she greets him in pleased surprise, then notices what he’s holding. Her eyes move from the box to his face, which is an undignified shade of red, and suddenly her face goes red as well.

Through lack of nothing else to do, the Conductor shoves it into her hands, _then_ greets her. What she says next, he doesn’t hear, because he’s too busy mentally head-banging.

He’s too old for this.

CC steps forward and touches him arm to snap him out of it, and it works, since his chest instantly starts feeling fluttery.

_He’s too old for this_.

His mouth isn’t forming words, but she keeps a level head.

“Hey, uh, how about you… come in?”

He lets her lead him through the door and seat him at her kitchen table, all the while dying inwardly.

“So… eh…” he begins, not daring to meet her gaze. “Sorry if I… _how are ye still alive_?”

She blinks, then blinks again. “That’s… not what I expected you to say, but…” she chuckles weakly. “Uh, cats have nine lives, Mr. Conductor, it’s… it’s not just a saying.”

The Conductor nearly forgets his embarrassment in surprise.

“O-oh.”

“W-was that everything you, uh, came for?” she asks, sounding a little disappointed.

After a moment of processing, the Conductor replies.

“N-no, that ain’t it, ah… er… ah… well, ah brought ye… for V-Valentine’s day… eh…”

She laughs again. “That’s a bit of a coincidence, really.”

“How so?”

Cooking Cat gestures towards the sofa, which has a similar box to his sitting on the cushion.

“See, I was just about to go out to visit _you_.”

They stare at each other for a few moments.

“Ah,” the Conductor says, nodding. “Ah.”

“There’s… um, only one problem,” she says.

“That being?”

“Cats can’t eat chocolate, Connie.”

Two things run through the Conductor’s mind. The first one is that she’d just called him “Connie”, which is, admittedly, a name he hates because of DJ Grooves’ abuse of it, but is also a nickname, which signals affection. The second one is that _how did he not remember that cats can’t eat chocolate what is wrong with him_-

“Chocolate is overrrated anyway,” the Conductor replies, and Cookie laughs.

********************

Two hours later, the Conductor steps back out onto her doorstep, laughing, then turns to say his goodbyes.

“Thanks for havin’ me, Cookie,” he says, and she smiles.

“I’ve been down since those kids left,” she says. “I should be thanking _you_ for making my day.”

It’s all ridiculously sappy, but the Conductor doesn’t care.

“Call me later?” he asks, and she nods.

“Call you later,” she replies, bending down to plant a kiss on his beak.

The Conductor drives away happier than he’s been in a while. Later, he’ll drink himself half to death out of guilt simply because he “betrayed” his dead wife, but for now, he’s happy.

So what if he’s too old? He doesn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this.  
> I also don't know why I'm so bad at writing.  
> Cross-posted on Tumblr at: https://sentientsliceoftoast.tumblr.com/


End file.
